América: Anita's Story
by Anita Josephina
Summary: West Side Story from Anita's perspective. For everyone who loved Anita, this story explores the true depth of her character. Explains how Anita met the others, how and why they came to New York, and what her feelings are before, during, and after the play
1. Uno

When my Mamá died the world fell away. She had caught a fever and had lied sweltering in bed all day. That time was hard on all of us. I had to cover her jobs as well as mine—though it was terrible when she did die, I was relieved to be doing only my shifts again. Still, we lost the income, my father and I, and had to make do even with our grief.

I looked up from my sewing and studied my father. Papá was looking through some newspaper and documents while he absently unpeeled some plantains. I wonder where he got them. They look fairly new, the newspaper does at least. Suddenly, he looks up, peering over his glasses catching my glance. The ends up his lips turn up slightly.

"I see you brought work home with you again, _mija_," he said softly.

I nodded and turned my attention to the stitches again.

"My work was piling up. With Señor Vasquez as the new tailor, any of his anger I don't get is worth the extra work."

His face turned serious. "Is he cruel, Anita?"

I looked up, but only with my eyes.

"No," I lied. "I just do not think before I talk." At least that part was true.

He tried to hide a smile then. I had my mother's fire and my father's dry wit. Hardly a good combination.

"You look tired," he noted, setting the papers aside and putting his whole attention towards the food.

"You too," I said gently.

Silence and a sigh. I dried my sweaty palms against my clothes, struggling to grasp the needle. The heat is terrible, I can scarcely breathe. I try to take my mind off it by calculating our income…If I work the food stand all morning, clean Señora Mendez's house in the afternoon, and sew in the evening and night then I should get at least…

I pressed my hand against my perspiring forehead. Even thinking made my head hurt. When was the last time I slept a full night? I could not remember. Papá is suddenly next to me, stooped on the floor of broken tile. He hands me a piece of bread with half a plantain. I eat it without thinking, I've forgotten likes and dislikes in taste long ago. I am thirsty most of all—but know the warm stagnant water we have is neither healthy nor thirst-quenching. I will see if I can find some fresh water when I go out tonight.

Finally, the light begins to fade. Papá begins to clean up and I scramble to finish my work. I grab the rest of the pieces I had finished sewing and kiss Papá lightly against the cheek. He catches my hand before I can leave.

"Keep safe, _mi vida_," he murmurs, his eyes worried.

"I would not have it any other way," I reply, trying to seem cheerful. It is hard; I am so tired.

I walk out into the street, keeping close to the buildings and away from the roads—times are not safe. I imagine myself blending into shadows, small and quiet, but I know to those who prey in darkness I am like a beacon of light. I put my hands to my sides to keep my skirts from rustling as I dart around a corner. I hear footsteps and begin to grow nervous. _I carry nothing of worth except my life_, I remind myself, something my father said once. _Nothing of worth…nothing of worth…_

I gasp when the footsteps catch up to me and a hand grabs my shoulder, whirling me about to face the pursuer. It is Señor Vasquez, my employer. I fight the urge to tell him off for sneaking up on me.

"You are almost late, Señorita Torres," he remarks evenly, stepping closer. He puts a hand on my shoulder, a thumb tracing my collarbone. "Perhaps you and I should go through your schedule… I would hate to give you more work again. We should come to an agreement…" His other hand takes my arm.

I pull away, hands folded across my chest.

"I am sure you would _hate_ for a lot of things to happen," I spat, throwing the clothes I had sewn that evening to him.

Angry, he stepped forwards and grabbed my arm again, more forcefully. In an instant, I jerked from his grasp and broke into a run, sprinting across the street, down a road, and into the shop. I halted next to the other girls, breathless.

"First time you make it in time, Anita," Consuelo, my beautiful yet immoral friend, said in a sing-song voice. She smiles as if she knows everything. That is her problem; knowing too much makes her over-confident.

"There's a first time for everything," I remind her, pulling up a stool to sit next to her.

We hold our breath as Señor Vasquez, sticks his head in the doorway, glances at each of us, and goes off again.

"Speaking of which," she said, handing me some work to do, "what did the tailor have to say?"

"Nothing important," I mumbled, threading a needle. "Something about not being late again."

Consuelo shot me a glance with her piercing eyes.

"You ran here with the devil at your heels," she said matter-of-factly. "Tell me."

"No," I said firmly. "That dog isn't worth gossiping about. Tell me something interesting."

"You needn't fear him," Consuelo replied, ever so sweetly. "You only need to know how to…talk his language."

"_Ai_," I scowled, "since when do I want _your_ advice?"

"Then perhaps you do not want to know about the dance?" She teased, placing a tantalizing proposition before me.

"Fine," I said under my breath.

"There's a good Anita," Consuelo said with a laugh. "The dance is next weekend, at the church auditorium in Viejo San Juan."

"A bit of a walk," I noted.

"Not too far," she insisted, giving a sly smile. "I know a boy who has _un coche_, a car."

"Which boy is this?" I ask skeptically.

"His name is Bernardo," she said proudly. "My boyfriend, Indio's, new friend. He is very popular, has a big group of friends, you know. They all pitched in and stol—I mean, _found_ a car." She paused, regaining her breath. "So?"

"So, what?"

"Do you want to come or not?"

I sighed and pushed my work away, unable to concentrate.

"I can't."

"Why not, _querida_?"

"Too tired, too much work. It would not be fair to my father."

"_Ai_, Anita, you're no fun anymore," she said with mock-sadness.

I take a hand and shove her shoulder gently.

"You're no good anymore," I shot back as she laughed. "I'll go with you. But it will not be easy."

"I know," she said quietly, suddenly serious. "But it will be worth it in the end."

"_Quizás_," I sigh. "Perhaps."

Now it is her turn to shove me before we settle into the thick silence and try to concentrate.

Four hours into the night Señor Vasquez allows us to leave. I take some work home with me again; payday is approaching and I do not want him docking me of a few _pesos_ again. The heat and the dark is thicker now, it encompasses us and everything around us. Consuelo falls into step next to me.

"I am walking you home," she announces, seeing my curious look. She puts her hands on her hips like a stubborn mother. "I worry about you, Anita—so small and pretty, walking home at this hour!"

"I don't have to worry about you," I retort. "You _ask_ for trouble!"

We laugh, but not too loud.

"Wait!" I say, suddenly remembering. "We need fresh water."

Consuelo nods. "Follow me; I know the way."

Silently, we cross the street, scarcely making a sound. It's a wonder to those who see us no doubt—girls so quiet and stealthy, wandering the streets so late at night for water—but it has become a way of life. We stay quiet because we want to live. Consuelo leads me down a dark street and, instantly, I grow nervous—a flickering light provided the only source of brightness for our eyes, and we wandered towards it like moths to a candle.

"Here it is," she breathed, stooping down to a rusted spigot. Taking a nearby pail, she proceeded to fill it to the brim. When she handed it to me, the rusted out handle dug painfully into my palm.

We hear a noise, a soft rustle, and stiffen, disobeying every instinct that tells us to run.

"Don't move," a voice says clearly, louder than I expected. "I have a weapon."

Consuelo draws a breath, standing taller. She automatically steps in front of me, protecting me.

"Señor Vasquez?" she asked, her voice sounding relieved. "It is us; Consuelo and Anita. We were just walking home."

"I know," he replies evenly. His voice is steady, unafraid.

I summon all my courage. "In that case we'll be leaving," I say, perhaps too confidently. "_Buenas noches."_

"I have a weapon!" he repeated. "Do not move."

I scowl. "Señor—"

Consuelo grabs my arm and shakes her head. Obviously this has happened before. Slowly, I place the pail on the ground. Better to have my hands free if I need to run.

"Consuelo," the towering man said, "you may leave. Señorita Torres was late this evening…we need to reach an agreement."

"_Ai_, Señor, you do not want her. She is—" Consuelo began quickly, her voice shaking slightly.

"Go home you whore," he snapped, waving the gun in her direction. "I know good women when I see them." He reached for me, but I draw back.

"Wait!" Consuelo cries out again, her voice trembling. "Let me tell her a few words before I leave, at least." Her gaze is intense and even.

He curses, but lowers the gun. Consuelo swallows and clenches her jaw before turning her eyes towards me. She comes close as to embrace me yet I here her warm breath on my ear. She whispers so quietly it seemed as if she were speaking in my head.

"We can outrun him, and yell for help," she said so softly and quickly that it all was in one exhale of her breath. "Now."

I do not even think; I do not have time to think. We run through the darkness. I inhale sharply as my heart hammers in my chest—I ran faster than I have ever run before and I could still hear the pounding footsteps of Señor Vasquez as he seemed to get closer and closer.

Consuelo began to scream for help once we ran out of the alley. Her voice was shrill and frightened, like I had never heard it before. Just as the cries escaped her lips there was a sickening bang and she falls to the hot pavement. I scream and stop in my tracks, turning back to Consuelo. In that one second of hesitation, Señor Vasquez came up behind me, pulling me to him by the waist and clasping a hand around my mouth. My mind spins with overwhelming fear; for myself, for Consuelo. Then I hear the sirens, the scuffling of footsteps towards us, and the bright lights of two automobiles with their screeching tires.

Señor Vasquez throws me to the ground and I tumble to regain my footing and crawl towards Consuelo. He tries to get away but is soon brought back by two rugged looking policemen. My eyes filled with tears as I reached Consuelo, clasping her hand while she gasped for breath. She winced and struggled to smile. An officer approached us.

"Please, señor!" I exclaimed desperately. "She is wounded…She needs a hospital!"

With a sigh, the officer beckoned one of his men to carry the bleeding Consuelo, her arms limp and hanging to her sides, into his police car, turning back on the sirens and driving away.

Relieved, I stand up shakily. I turn towards Señor Vasquez, happy that I can strike out now, but a policeman grabs me by my arm roughly.

"What happened?" the officer asked calmly, turning to Señor Vasquez.

He struggled against his captors.

"I paid good money for her and she ran off!" he snarled. "I have a right to what's mine."

I scoff angrily. "The only good money you've ever paid me was my salary for _tailoring_ two weeks ago, you pig!"

The policeman pulls on my arm.

"Quiet, you," he growls.

I, however, am indignant.

"I will _not_ be quiet!" I said angrily. "Don't you understand? _We_ were the victims; not him!"

"Even if a prostitute were to run away from you," the officer continued to Señor Vasquez, "that gives you no right to shoot her. She will reimburse you for what you paid, but you will have to pay a fine."

"Fine," he drawls out, pushing away once the men released him.

"_He attacked us_!" I protested. "He tried to kill Consuelo and tried to…"

The officer held up a hand, massaging his temples.

"Enough," he said smartly. "You would do well not to wander the streets so late; not in this neighborhood. You should know better, it leads people to believe you are…" he breaks off, looking me over for once as if to decide if I was decent or not. "I cannot assume otherwise. Return the money to the señor or he may press charges. You, señor, will face some time in prison if you assault another person publicly. If you can come with me to the station house, we may settle the fine."

Señor Vasquez begins to follow the officer towards his car when, suddenly, his face came towards mine.

"Next time you will not be so lucky," he said in a deadly whisper, before turning and getting into the vehicle.

The cars swept past me, sirens blaring, until I was left alone. I stood silent and still for the longest time. Should I walk to the hospital, stand by Consuelo and make sure she is alright? Should I run home to my father and wait until the horrid realization of this night sinks in? I wrap my arms about myself, suddenly shivering. Panic overtakes me and I begin to run home.


	2. Dos

When I burst into my home, I burst into the thick, unfamiliar darkness. I paused, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, and struggled to find the light switch.

"Don't bother," my father's voice rang out softly. "It went out shortly after you left."

I fumbled through the room, following the sound of his voice. "You paid the bill?"

He sighed. "I was looking for it…I thought I had…maybe that was something else…"

I found myself in the kitchen area, and I groped around until I found a crate full of plantains.

Reaching behind it, I took a candle and a match, lighting it quickly. I brought the flickering flame close to my face as I looked around at our disheveled home.

My father rose from where he had been sitting.

"_Querida_, your face," he swallowed, struggling to make his way to me. "You have been crying?"

I sank to the ground, holding the candle between us.

"I would lie, _papi_, and say it was nothing just to keep your mind at peace," I said all at once, a warm breath. "But not tonight. S-Señor Vasquez…he, somehow…"

Papá jerked forward, grabbing me by the shoulders.

"What did he do? Are you hurt? If he hurt you I'll—"

"No, no, _papi_," I sobbed. "Not me, Consuelo. He found us…and…She tried to defend me and…and he shot her!"

I sunk into his embrace, emotionally spent. I noticed he was trembling. Was he frightened? Angry? I could not tell which. Whatever he felt, he could not bring himself to speak.

Finally, I pulled away.

"It's not safe here," I whispered desperately. "What kind of life is this that we are afraid to live?"

His eyes seemed to droop, exhausted.

"What would you have me do, Anita?" he asked timidly. "Leave to _el campo_, the countryside? Leave…leave Puerto Rico?"

"I don't know," I faltered. "Maybe, someday."

It was his turn to break off, sobbing. I blew out the candle and we held each other in the frightening dark till dawn.


	3. Tres

The next day, I had no choice but to go to my other jobs, no matter how unnerved I was. I was continually frightened by the fact that I might not have the option of quitting my employment to Señor Vasquez; he was the highest paying job I had and I cannot remember if I signed a contract or not…But just the thought of being with that menacing man again…

I shiver though the harsh sun beats down on my back.

I was thinking about Consuelo, hoping she was alright, wondering when I could visit her, when I saw a vaguely familiar person approach the fruit stand. He was tall and lanky, with dark messy hair and a hint of a mustache on his top lip. His hands were conspicuously in his pockets, grasping a knife, no doubt. Suddenly, the name came to mind, and I called out.

"Indio!" I said, loud enough to get his attention. His head shot up like a dog called by its master and he gave a gentle smile as he recognized me and came to where I sat, by the mangoes and papayas.

He glanced around cautiously before speaking to me.

"Anita, right?" he ventured and, when I nodded, he smiled again. "We met at a dance…sorry, it's just that was so long ago!"

"I know what you mean," I said. A pause. I had to tell him. "Consuelo…the two of you _are_ together, aren't you?"

"Yes," he said quickly. "Yes, of course. Have you seen her today?"

I looked away. Customers were beginning to shoot us suspicious looks.

"Pretend you're looking at the mangoes," I instruct him under my breath. Instantly, he moves forward and traces his fingers over the skin of the fruit, even picks one up and tests its weight in his palm.

"Now," I continued, quietly, so only his ears could hear, "this will not be easy to hear. It's just, I thought you should hear it from me rather than find out unexpectedly." He pursed his lips and nodded slightly. I swear I saw the muscles in his arms tighten as he braced himself for whatever I had to say. I took a breath; still, the words, the fact had not sunken in completely.

"We were walking home from work last night," I began softly, "when a man we knew found us and threatened us, threatened me. When we ran away…he shot Consuelo."

I let a moment pass as his face paled and his hands began to shake.

"Shooting innocent women," he managed to stutter. "What has become of Puerto Rico?"

"There is still hope," I add quickly, seeing his eyes distant and scared. "She did not die immediately; the police took her to a hospital…the one downtown, I think. You should go see if she's…go see if she is alright. I would go myself, but if I leave I'll be fired and we need money now more than ever."

I took his hand in mine, just for an instant, and squeezed it reassuringly. When our hands parted, he began to walk away, tearing down the street and out of sight.


	4. Cuatro

Despite the thought of his extra salary, I refuse to return to Señor Vasquez's shop. In fact, I avoid all the streets surrounding his shops as well. _Por si las moscas._ Just in case. I do not know how I am going to tell Papá; could he understand that I'd rather starve than face him again? Papá fell asleep anyway while looking over the bills, too exhausted to keep his eyes open. I steal away silently, praying he does not wake before I return. Only, this time, I take a long piece of cloth and wrap it around my waist like a belt. Opening a drawer, I take a knife and bury it securely behind the cloth belt, its cool metal pressed against my stomach even through my clothes.

As I begin to walk towards the downtown area of San Juan, I begin to feel sorry for having brought along the knife. What if someone, especially someone at the hospital, notices it on me? If I am attacked, will I have the nerve to use it? Could I pretend I had the courage to use it, or would my attacker be able to sense my weakness anyway? Would I be so weak? I shivered to think I might lash out in anger, in defense and regret the outcome.

Why do things have to be so dangerous, so difficult these days?

I swallow a trembling breath and stay towards the inside of the sidewalk, my hands pressed against my middle, where the cold knife lay.

Finally, before my mind could wander too much, I found the dim, glowing lights of the Hospital de San Juan. There were a few ambulances stationed at the edge of the sidewalk, waiting for the night's violence to take its course. A man in the ambulance gave me a wary glance, another surprised to see me alone; girls usually travel in groups or with an escort, I suppose. I had not noticed until then.

I kept walking as if I had not noticed his stare, eyes cast down, and I pushed through the door to the hospital. I stumbled my way up to receptionist's table and asked for Consuelo's room number in a quiet voice before turning down the hallway and up the stairs. I stopped before I entered her room, dropping my hands finally from my middle and exhaling. What if she was dead, the injury too terrible to even look at? Memories of her blood flowing onto her white clothing filled my mind; the red was so bright and shocking it had hurt my eyes to look on it.

I shook the image from my mind and slowly opened the door. The bright light emerging from the inside of the room was blinding at first and I squinted as I made my way inside.

"You made it," said a voice, such a warm familiar voice. "Indio was here too; you just missed him, though."

My eyes focused and I saw Consuelo, as pretty as ever, lying in the hospital bed. She looked pale against the starch white hospital sheets and had several tubes weaving in and out of her. I came up to her, speechless, and smiled as I sat next to her. She smiled back and took my hand in hers.

"_Dios mío_," I finally managed to murmur. "I'm so happy to see you…"

"Alive?" she finished, with a chuckle. "_Suerte pura_. Pure luck. The omens were good for me that night, I suppose."

"Still, you nearly died for me!" I exclaimed seriously. "And for that I am very grateful."

Consuelo smiled mischievously and attempted to prop herself up.

"Then you must do me a favor, _querida_. You must promise me you will still go to the dance next weekend, even if I cannot come."

"_Ay_, Consuelo, don't you ever think? There are more serious things now besides a dance!"

"But I thought you were grateful, Anita," she said, amused. "Are you not grateful enough to do me a tiny favor? ¡_Que amor recibo de mis amigas!_"

"Fine," I say, throwing up my hands and pretending to be annoyed. "I'll go. But _only_ because you risked your life for me."

She smiled triumphantly. "Always the best reason to go to a dance!" Consuelo tried to laugh but grimaced suddenly, as if some pain had riveted through her body. She shifted herself again and squeezed my hand. "Visit me, will you? Tell me how the dance went and, if you can, keep both eyes on my Indio for me."

I nodded sincerely. "I'll bring you some fresh mango tomorrow. You'll see, you will be your old chatty self in no time at all! But, for now, you have a vacation _y soy celosa_ _de ti_; you better take advantage, _nena_."

She smiled again, weaker this time.

"I suppose I'll have to!" she murmured.

I didn't know what else to say; for once, my words left me. Humor would be of no use now. I stayed with her as late as I could, which was when a nurse instructed me to let her sleep. I was grateful to leave. I couldn't stand the grave silence of the hospital. Besides, I needed to get home before it was too late. Even with a knife, the streets are never safe and I ran home before I gave a chance for myself to worry.


	5. Cinco

That Saturday, I leaned over our tiny, cracked mirror as I attempted to put on some makeup. I was wearing one of my few beautiful dresses for events such as this dance; a flowing, pale red dress that had once been my mother's. Even wearing it makes me think of her, though I try not to. Tonight of all nights would not be the night to remember the grief of her death.

"I will not stay out late," I remind my father, who is in the kitchen, sweeping and reading some papers at the same time.

"_Esta bien_," Papá assured me. "It's alright. You will be with a group, _si_? With your friends… Teresita and Isabel, _verdad_?"

"_Si_," I reply, putting on my small gold hoop earrings. "We are meeting there and will walk home together. I would not be going, only I promised Consuelo and…"

"Don't worry," he said, putting the broom down and coming towards me. "I should be the one that is worried. And I am," he added quietly, before quickly saying, "But as long as you stay with a group at all times…do not wander…and come home directly, then I will not worry."

"I will," I said, pulling on my shoes. "You know I am always one step ahead! If I wasn't…then I would not be your daughter!"

He laughs at this and takes my face in his hands gently, kissing me lightly on the cheek. As I returned his gaze, I noticed that though he smiled his eyes were pools of emotion. He was still worried for me! I could not blame him, I was worried for myself.

"It will be fine," I announced, reassuring both of us. "When you wake, I will be home."

He nodded again. "Have a good time, _m'ija_." His voice faltered, he waved me out the door before he was forced to show his emotion.

As I stepped out into the settling cool dark I felt my stomach tighten. My father's worry had made me worry. But, thankfully, it was not too long before I found Isabel.

I was filled with warmth when I saw her, my childhood friend; the warm happiness of good memories spread down to the tips of my fingers. I had not seen her in so long; her family had moved to the countryside, looking for work. She was walking somewhat aimlessly around the block, brow furrowed with thought.

"Isabel!" I called happily. "Looking for something?"  
She laughed without even seeing me, knowing my voice. She turned until she saw me.

"_Que casualidad_. What I was looking for found me instead!" she smiled such a familiar smile.

I ran to her and caught her in a wild embrace, before I spoke again.

"Oh, Chavela," I said, calling her by her nickname, "you look as brown as a _frijol_!"

She nodded. "The sun can do that to you when you work outside all day! Not all of us can afford to keep our complexions as _bonita_ as yours, 'Nita."

"You always were the charming one, _querida_," I said sweetly, but insisted, "Cleaning by day and sewing by night has not been wonderful either…especially since…"

"I heard about your mamá," she said gently. "I prayed for her, and for you and your father. Things are hard for people everywhere these days. _Mi papá_ _says_ that with politics these days, our best investment is to save for a ticket to América."

A shiver went down my spine. Every time I heard that word, I was filled with exhilaration. Was it a hope? A premonition? A bit of both?

She must have noticed my expression because she added, "Don't worry, _nena_. It'll be some time before we've saved up for a voyage; I have three brothers and a sister, remember?" I laugh as I do remember them, her goofy brothers and little wide-eyed Sophia.

"Enough chat," I said finally, linking my arm in hers. "We talk as if we have nowhere to go! I did not get dressed up just to see you, Chavela, despite what you think."

"_Ai, gracias, _'Nita," she pretended to be hurt, but smiled all the same. "I suppose we should escort each other to the dance then?"

"_Por supuesto_. Of course."

I am so happy as we walk down the crumbling sidewalk together, I had forgotten what such a feeling felt like. Everything about Isabel was familiar, the sound of her laugh, her voice, how the ends of her lips turned up as she hid a smile. Even her cascading dark hair, which she kept in a loose bun, just as I did. Such a familiarity was comforting; after all the events that had happened over the last few months, I hadn't realized just how much comfort I really needed. _Es mi culpa_, it is my own fault. Perhaps if I did not hide my emotion so much…if I grieved openly like every other person, then perhaps I'd be better off. But I don't. Which is why being with _mi amiga_ Chavela, even for a moment, was such a joy. Because at that moment, I could immerse myself in her familiarity, in the memories that surrounded her. Memories of better days and happier times, through which I could forget.

_Solamente por un momento._

Only for a moment.


	6. Seis

The dance had already started when we arrived, pushing through the creaking doors of the auditorium. The room was a flurry of endless colors, people dancing wildly to the fast-paced _mambo_ the band played. My heartbeat quickened until it matched the beat of the bongo drums. How easily the blasting of the trumpet and the strumming of the guitar could take the weight off my mind! Instantly I was filled with an incomprehensible and insatiable urge to dance, just to move myself to this rhythm that pulsed furiously through my body.

Isabel noticed my expression and gave me a slight nudge against my ribs, raising her voice over the music, "Find your friends first—then you can dance all you want."

I nodded reluctantly and scanned the dance floor for any familiar faces. Then I saw them, huddled in a corner where talking could be more easily heard. I worked with the three of them, Teresita, Penelope, and Antonia, in one job or another. Although I had not known them as long as I had Chavela, they were still friends.

I weaved through the dance floor, darting around couples, especially those completely off-beat. I smiled and clasped hands with the other girls and we talked as best we could amongst the five of us, even with the music. They asked about Consuelo, trying to get me to confirm any gossip they had heard about what happened to us that Night. When I stayed stubbornly to the truth they began to talk about other things, frivolous things such as dresses and hair styles. I grew restless.

As I looked towards the band again, eager to dance, I spotted Indio, hands in his pockets, eyes straight forward, unblinking. Shoulders slumped, he looked so serious that I decided to cheer him up. I excused myself from my friends and made my way cross the floor again, past the blaring of trumpets till I was next to him, nearly against the pale pink, chipping wall.

"I am here to keep both eyes on you since Consuelo cannot!" I announced and he smiled wearily. "Those were her exact words to me, so you cannot protest, _nene_."

"Go ahead," he said openly. "I do not mind. Besides, I'm leaving soon anyway to visit her."

I gave a slight smile at his open affection for my friend. It was a sorry thing that she was so fickle, so ready to believe horoscopes and leave one boy for another. I hoped he would not end up being another of her stumbling, love-sick boys. I know too many who still are!

"_Ai, _Indio, but you're at a dance! ¡_No estamos poniéndonos mas joven! _We're not getting any younger! Let's dance while we still can, no?" I grabbed his hands but he refused to budge.

"Dance with _you_, Anita?"

"Why not? Or dance with yourself, if you'd like. Or dance _next _to me. Dance anywhere, but _por favor_, _chico_, just dance."

With a sigh, he pushed his lanky figure off the wall and trotted after me as I made my way to the middle of the dance floor triumphantly. Swaying casually to the beat of the song, waiting for it to finish, I tried to get Indio to loosen up, moving his shoulders and stomping my feet. He smiled awkwardly.

Finally, the band paused and twittered as they prepared for their next song. The drum started it at first, followed by the trumpets, the piano, and the _clave_. A full-fledged, heart-pounding _salsa_. My body flew into motion, like an old, familiar instinct. I danced to myself, mostly, though Indio tried to keep up. I did not mind; I was having the time of my life. I spun and kicked, keeping a hand at my skirts as I swished them as my legs moved, like the dancers of old _flamenco_. By the time the dance had finished, I was breathless, but trembling with excitement and exhilaration.

As the couples clapped for the band and caught their breath for the next song, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"May I cut in, Indio?" asked a voice, deep and clear, an unmistakable and remarkable sounding voice.

I turned to face a boy of about my age, possibly older, who was tall and dark. He looked like my friend Chavela, like one who had worked out in the country quite often. His hair, dark as night, was slick with hair gel, though it had fallen to the front naturally, a few strands of hair hanging over his forehead. In that one second of observation, I found him very, no, extremely attractive. And for some reason, that caused my face to burn with shame.

Indio's face immediately brightened.

"Oh, no," he explained, "we weren't dancing."

"You mean to say _you _weren't dancing, my friend."

"I never could."

"Then you won't mind if I dance with Señorita—" He turned to _admire_ me, I suppose, his eyes sweeping over me. Perhaps he was cocky. I pulled myself from noticing the details of the boy to respond.

"Torres," I finished simply, meeting his glance.

"_Lo siento_," Indio said quickly. "Anita Torres, _te presento a _Bernardo Núñez. Bernardo, this is Anita."

We muttered our _encantadas_ and _mucho gustos_ as the next song began, and Indio left hastily, weaving through the crowd. Bernardo takes my hand, smiling almost suggestively.

"So, you're the infamous Bernardo," I stated finally as we began to dance. "The one who, rumor has it, stole a car."

He smirked at this, proud of his achievements it seemed.

"Guilty as charged," he replied, his voice husky. "I must say I haven't heard of _you,_ Señorita Torres. Although, you're an incredible dancer. Now all you need is a worthy partner to match you skill." Elegantly, he brought me to a low dip, my skirts nearly brushing the ground. With great ease, he slowly pulled me upwards, so close to him.

"Let me know when you find one," I countered once I was upright again.

He laughed, sharp, yet full, and pulled me closer. His musky smell, sweat with a hint of old cologne and _café_, made me dizzy, almost drunk.

"You're a quick one!" he noted, referencing my wit.

"I must be, if I am to dance to such fast music."

He laughed again.

I expected him to move on to some other girl but, surprisingly, Bernardo danced with me for most of the remainder of the night. I admit that I was curious; why would he, a popular, handsome boy, who could have any girl at the dance with only a few charming words, be dancing with me, trading puns and laughs. He made his intent known by the last dance.

"Anita," he said suddenly and my heart jumped when he said it, "I've really enjoyed meeting you."

"I'm sure you have."

"_Really_! You're quite…spirited. Most girls I know are, well, plain compared to you."

I knew where this was leading. And I was a bit leery. I had a _novio_, boyfriend, before—a smart boy named Esteban. Things seemed to be going well for us, even with his busy schedule and my work. Then, one day, we went to a dance together. He came up to me afterwards and said my dancing was too wild and that we could never get along.

I paused to consider. Bernardo was different. He seems to be as I am. He continues to speak.

"Maybe we could meet again, this Friday? We could have lunch, I know a wonderful place, Dante's, that makes the best _mofongo_ you've ever—"

I put a hand to his lips.

"Do you want to have food or do you want to go out with me?"

He smiles at this, the corner of his mouth turning up. "I thought we could do both."

"Dinner then. Much more food. Besides, you could walk me home, say hello to my father. He'll want to meet you."

"All right then," he says triumphantly, grinning. "It's a date."  
"So it is."

Before I realize what is happening, the song we are dancing to is over. He tips me back slightly, kissing me gently on the cheek before letting my hand slide away from his. He grins again, his face full of excitement as he turns back to see me one final time, before he is lost in the crowd.

I take my hand and press it against the spot where he kissed me, feeling lightheaded.

I would never let him know that he won me over so quickly, but from that first moment I knew I would love Bernardo Núñez.


	7. Siete

I hardly knew what to wear for my date with Bernardo. I had thought about it, about him, all throughout the week. Then, _viernes,_ Friday, arrived and I still did not know. The dress I had worn to the dance, my mother's dress, was the most beautiful thing I owned. He could not expect such another glamorous outfit, could he? After all, it was only _la cena, _dinner. I settled on one of my lesser frayed skirts and a clean blouse. Though it pained me to wear my nice shoes, I felt nervous with such a plain outfit. I let my hair drape loose across my shoulders to change, the cascading black tresses standing out from my white blouse.

Papá had not returned from work as I left, twilight casting gold and shadows down our narrow street. I wondered if he was alright; unlike myself, my father was very punctual, always staggering home at the same time each day. As I began to walk to Dante's, the restaurant where I would meet Bernardo, I reassured myself that at least Papá knew where I was and that I would see him afterwards. I smiled slightly, realizing the coincidence that if I still worked for Señor Vazquez I would not have had the chance to meet Bernardo. _En cierto, el destino es una cosa maravillosa. _

Will he even be there? I wondered as I rounded a corner. Perhaps I misjudged him.

I could not help but smile, however, when I saw he was already waiting for me, leaning casually against a wall. He looked more handsome than I remembered, his silhouette bathed in a golden light from the setting sun. As I hurried my pace to greet him, he extended a hand to me. Without so much as a trace of hesitation or awkwardness, he draped an arm around my waist, his fingers intertwining with mine.

"_Te extrañé," _he said, a hot breath against my ear. "I missed you!"

I scoffed playfully, stepping out of his embrace, but turned back to cast him a smile.

"How can that be? It's only been a few days. I'm sure you say that to all _las chicas_," I joke, stepping inside the restaurant and sitting down to one of the tables. Looking around, I was relieved to notice the atmosphere was relatively casual.

"Never!" he said innocently, a trace of a smile tugging at his lips.

Glancing at him over the top of my menu, I took in everything about him all over again, like I had at the dance…the warm color of his skin, his dark, tousled hair, his white shirt rolled up to his elbows. Everything. When his dark eyes glanced up at me, I pretended to look at the menu, hiding a smile.

After we ordered our dinner and the darkness thickened outside, we began to settle into an easy conversation with each other.

"What does your family do?" I asked him as casually as I could manage. For myself, at least, social standings was an important issue.

He leaned back in his chair slightly. "My father owns some shops. Convenient stores. They're called 'Alegría San Juan'. ¿_Lo conoce?_"

A paused and thought a moment, and almost gasped when I realized that I had gone to such a store. Several times, in fact. As strange as it sounds, knowing that Bernardo's father owned the store made me feel as if I was with a celebrity of sorts. However, I revealed nothing and simply nodded in reply.

"What about you?" he asked after taking a swig of his _malta. _"Do you have a job?"

I hesitated, but only for a moment. "Two jobs…one and a half, really. I am a cashier at a fruit stand and I clean a woman's house every week. I'm looking for a better job, though."

His face brightened. "Maybe I could convince my father to give you a job. That would be too good to be true!"

"¿_En cierto?" _I asked, excited and relieved at the same time.

"Yes, really," he replied. "All you'll have to do is meet him, he will love you! I'll have to invite you over soon…_mi mamá_ will cook a big meal…my little sister will pretend she isn't excited to meet you…" He thought about this for a moment, then nodded assuredly. "Yes, very soon I'll invite you over."

"That sounds wonderful," I said breathily, contemplating the familiar scene he had set before me. I happy family around a long, beautiful table full of dishes upon dishes of food. Smiling faces, a big beautiful house. What would it be like to have such things? They seemed just out of my grasp, escaping from my fingertips.

"It is occasionally," he said with a sigh, not knowing of his fortune. "What's your family like?"

"It's just my father and I," I said casually, putting on an emotionless face. "My mother died not too long ago."

"_Lo siento_," he said immediately, his voice surprisingly tender.

I smiled uncomfortably, never dealing well with sympathy.

"I mean, I understand, Anita. I've lost someone too," he said softly. With a small smile of memory, he sat up and plunged his hand into his back pocket to fish out a worn photograph. He handed it to me, and it felt so delicate that I placed it onto the table for fear of tearing it. The picture was of a small girl with large, soft eyes. She had the same smile as Bernardo.

"That was my little sister, Paola. She died from influenza," his voice drifted off as his gaze met the photo, lying on the tablecloth.

I took his hand in mine.

"We're not so different then, are we?" I asked.

A flicker of light passed through his dark eyes as he glanced up at me and squeezed my hand.

"One day, I'm going to get us out of here," he said suddenly, almost like a promise.

I did not have to wonder what he meant; he meant out of Puerto Rico.

"Us?" I interrupted. "We just met! What makes you think we'll be together that long?"

He melted from his seriousness and gave a short laugh. "So we're 'together' then?" he teased.

I gave him a look and he laughed again.

"I just seems I've known you forever!" he exclaimed happily.

A moment passed as we exchanged glances. In those few moments, sitting in a restaurant, we had just exchanged our hopes and fears, our sorrows and joys. And the strange thing was Bernardo was right; I felt as if I had known him all of my life.

Before I had a chance to ask him about leaving Puerto Rico, our food came and my focus shifted to the first real meal I had eaten in months.

* * *

_Spanish Translations:_

_En cierto, el destino es una cosa maravillosa In truth, destiny is a marvelous thing._


	8. Ocho

The weeks went by with such remarkable ease. My father loved Bernardo at once, which made me glad; I felt guilty to escape with Bernardo and forget about our crumbling house with broken tiles and forget about my father's weary eyes and ever-growing stoop. Though I often regret it, escape I did, and the worst part is, it was the happiest time of my life.

The happiness began not long after our first date, when Bernardo surprised me, driving up to the fruit stand in his slightly dented car. Leaping out of the vehicle like a _caballero_ coming off of his stallion, he strode up to me with a knowing grin on his face.

"I can't take her out much," he said, motioning to the car as I took off my smock. "The owners of it must be looking for me!"

"Then what are you doing _here_, _chico_?" I asked, trying to keep the obvious joy from my voice.

"I bought some _pasteles_. I thoughtwe could eat them at the beach before the sun sets!"

He took my hand and tugged me towards him playfully. I pushed away only slightly.

"_No puedo ir_, I _can't_ go…Not yet, I'm working!" I insisted as he kept tugging. "You forget that some of us earn our living!"

"_Por favor, _Anita _bonita, _just this once. Who would want to buy fruit at five in the evening?" he wheedled, swinging my hand in his.

I couldn't resist those eyes!

"All right!" I laughed, closing up the stand. I held up a warning finger. "Just this _once_, Bernardo."

"_Si, si, querida,_" he promised hoping back into the driver's seat.

As I struggled to open the passenger's door I wondered why I agreed to join him. Was it that I enjoyed the exhilaration of his spontaneity? Or was it really the danger of my own recklessness? After all, I could be fired. Perhaps I'd never know.

"Here we go!" Bernardo exclaimed, breaking me from my thoughts as he started the sputtering engine.

Arm leaning over the side of the convertible, the wind pulsed through my hair as we made our way down the bumpy cobblestone streets, out of the grayness of my neighborhood, past the churches and beautiful, pale colors of Viejo San Juan, and down the long road to El Condado, lined with palm trees. As he drove, full of confidence with one hand on the wheel and another slipped around my shoulders, we didn't speak. Instead, we smiled for the pure bliss of the moment—of the warm sun and sweet-smelling _pasteles_. Of being with each other. We did not need words; our smiles summed up our feeling.

The car came to a shuddering halt on an anonymous side-street. Glancing up, I could see the sun shining its rays through the various clothing laid out to dry, flapping slightly in the breeze. As Bernardo jumped from the car with boundless energy, scooping up the box of _pasteles_ in one hand and draping a blanket over his arm, I peered between buildings and noticed the vast sea. How long had it been since I'd come to _la playa, _the beach, for leisure? I do not think I ever had! Bernardo held the door open for me and as soon as I had stepped onto the hot pavement, he took off jogging towards the beach.

I laughed outright at his over-enthusiasm and struggled to keep up with him as he darted down an alley, eyes fixed towards his destination.

"Slow down, Bernardo Núñez!" I said between excited breaths, in an almost scolding tone.

"I know just the way!" he called over his shoulder. "To the good beach, the one with plenty of shade and a calm tide, the one where the tourists, _los_ _Americanos,_ vacation to!"

"Well, we could go there more slowly! _You_ are not wearing a dress!"

"You'll have to catch me!" he called.

Smiling firmly, I hiked up my skirts, kicked off my shoes, and set to chase him.

As I began to gain ground, Bernardo looked over his shoulder and his eyes widened at my speed. His body squirmed forward, like a child in a game of tag, and he leapt over the curb and over the dunes of sand. Laughing, I followed suit. Soon, we were both running, but for a different reason. The sand was incredibly hot! Choking with laughter, we nearly tripped over our own feet heading for the water, sighing in relief when the cool waves lapped over our bare feet.

I looked over at Bernardo, his hair tousled and layered slightly with the dust of kicked up sand. It was then, amidst ocean spray and sand, that he leaned down to kiss me—a kiss of pure joy. For a moment, it was only us; I scarcely can recall any noise or feeling other than Bernardo, and when he pulled away I hungered for more. Slowly, I looked up and saw my own reflection in the pools of his eyes and we smiled as we caught our breaths. Then, almost shameless under the suspicious eyes of the tourists, Bernardo unexpectedly bent down and scooped me into his arms. Yelling exclamations back and forth he sprinted over the sand until, at last, we were safe in the shade of a few palm trees. He collapsed to the ground and I tumbled from his grasp, my chest heaving with more laughter.

Panting heavily and giving a breathy smile, Bernardo untied the string on the box of the _pasteles_, and grasped a gooey, delicious looking one, holding it in the air.

"Spoils of victory," he panted.

I reached in and grabbed one, too, though I coated it with a bit of sand.

"_Salud_," I announced, pressing my _pastel_ against his. "To your health."

After having our own little _brindis_, toast, we munched on our tasty treats in silence as the sun set and cast a warm glow over the beach. Bernardo leaned forward, attempted to lick the honey off my fingers. I didn't even attempt to stop him.

He was the first to break the silence.

"So," he said between chews, "I talked to my father."

Instantly alert, I swallowed and fixed my attention on him. "And?"

He gave a charming smile, knowing I was in suspense.

"He wants to give you a job!"

"_¡Que suerte! Gracias, Nardo_," I exclaimed, throwing my arms around his neck.

"There's only one condition…"

"And that is?"

"You must come meet him, and the rest of my family, at dinner tonight."

The excitement in me halted, lurching to a stop like an old vehicle.

"_Ay, _Nardo…" My sticky fingers twisted around each other, searching for the right way to decline. I couldn't leave my father in our dark little house while I was off eating a full meal. I couldn't.

Bernardo's eyes were pleading. "Everything's arranged Anita _bonita, _please say yes!"

"But my _Papi_, I cannot leave him," I finally blurted, feeling a bit ungrateful.

Bernardo stood up, brushing the sand from his clothing. He offered me his hand.

"I have a car¿_recuerdas_? We can pick up your father on the way to my home!"

My smile grew wide, and I felt like glowing like the sun. He knew I could join him now. Picking up the towel and empty box we strode arm in arm over the dunes and back to the alley where his _coche_ was parked, just as the sun vanished beneath the waves.

* * *

**Spanish translations:**

**_bonita_ : beautiful, pretty**

**_salud_:cheers!**

**_que suerte: _what luck**

**_recuerdas_: remember**


	9. Nueve

"_Ya_, Señora, I am quite full, truly!" I pushed away the plate, laughing.

Yes, for once in my life those words were true! I could not have eaten another piece of _yucca frita_ or another helping of _arroz con frijoles_ as appetizing they were; my stomach felt rounded with many helpings and I was warmed and slightly drowse from so much food.

"I, however, could never say no to more!" Señor Núñez, a portly, good-natured gentleman chuckled, taking the plate from his wife and piling plantains onto his plate.

I could feel myself glowing from happiness, full and content, and my lips ached from too much laughter. Bernardo's family was perfect, and I had never seen Papá more pleased. I suppose he was just as rejuvenated from a full meal as I was!

"I have to say, Señorita Torres, Nardo has told us a great deal about you but you have exceeded all expectations," Señora Núñez remarked good-naturedly as she stood and began to gather the empty, dirty plates.

"Well, if I know my Anita, and I do," Papá interjected, "she usually does the unexpected."

I stood, smiling, and helped Señora gather the plates. What had I done to impress her, to 'exceed all expectations'? I am glad, at least, that I do not have to _try _to impress them—they see me as I truly am and are pleased. María, Nardo's little sister with large, soft brown eyes, appears at my side.

"Nardo says you like music," she blurted bashfully. I am told that she is fourteen—still of an age where one has to work up the courage to speak to those they admire. Gathering the plates in an arm, I turned to the girl, admiring the simple beauty of her white dress.

"I do love music, _querida_, especially to dance to! Does your papi let you go to dances?" I smiled knowingly.

She shook her head quickly.

"Would you like me to play some records?" she asked, finally reaching the goal of her conversation.

"_Por favor_."

She ran off and I continued to gather the silverware and cups. Nardo hands me his and we exchange a smile—secretly savoring the sweetness of success of our families meeting joyfully. Truly, we were like a family that had known each other through blood and years at the peace we shared.

I followed Señora Núñez into the kitchen where she began to wash the dishes in her small sink, while at the same time making café over the amazing blue-flame of her new stove and chatting with me, weaving her own questions in with personal conversation. Studying her frail, thin form, I could clearly see Bernardo—his quick wit, his easy smile. A thick warmth filled the kitchen as I dried the plates and the rich smell of café signaled its readiness. Pouring the mahogany liquid into small shots, we two women took them into the dining room, passing them around.

Distantly, María's record player began to play an easy mambo—the beat of the _clave _and drums mingling with the scent of café as Señor Núñez held up his tiny cup.

"A _brindis_, a toast!" he smiled, looking around the table from his son, wife, and daughter, to my father and me. "To freedom!"

"To América!" Bernardo added before we _clinked _our cups together and drank the strong liquid swiftly. I attempted to savor its potent taste as the others bolted it quickly—I noticed Papá also took his time with his café—we both knew it would be some time before we would have it in our house again.

América—that word again! The land far away and distant, yet unbelievably close. What would it be like to live there? And what was this _nieve_, snow, Papá had mentioned before? Truly, it was a land of mystery.

"You have heard of what they're saying on the streets then?" Señor Núñez asked. Already, from the short time I had known him I could tell that the businessman with a chain of shops was thrilled by politics.

"I am not sure what you mean, _señor_," I responded politely, though I had good reason to believe it had to do with the _país misterioso, _the mysterious country. I recalled Bernardo's strange comment from our first date:

_One day, I'm going to get us out of here_.

What did he mean?

"As you know, our own _Borinquen _is a commonwealth of América," Señor Núñez interrupted my thoughts, his eyes shining with fervor. "But, before now, that gave us very little advantages."

"Hundreds of our people are immigrating to that land," Bernardo continued, voice light with the same excitement. "They speak of an opportunity like no other! Here, times are difficult…we work hard and earn nothing…but in América? Equal opportunity for all."

_What did he know of nothing?_ I thought angrily suddenly. His family ate with plenty, slept in different rooms, and had running water. It was we, my father and I, that truly had nothing at all. Still, my resentment was replaced with awe and hunger for this land. If hundreds of people also left for opportunity and have never returned, they must have found it!

"The political and economic situation here does not please me," Señor Núñez said sorrowfully, extending his hand to his wife. Their fingers interwove and my heart began to pound in my chest, sensing a great announcement. "That is why we have decided to leave to América in a year—a city called _Nueva York_, New York."

"Congratulations," I managed, still not quite sure how this concerned _me_.

Bernardo mimicked his father by taking my hand as well.

"Papá has chosen to send me first while he sells our shops here in San Juan. I will find lodging for us—our family and friends that will all make this move together. Anita, I would very much like for you to come with me." His dark eyes were pools of hope, his words almost pleading, refusing me to deny him.

"I am sorry _mijo," _my father whispered. "But there is no humanly way for me to send my daughter—I simply lack the means."  
My face flushed with shame. Papá knew that I wanted to go with Bernardo, that I couldn't be parted with him and this great opportunity for freedom. Did Papá also know that I could not leave him behind in Puerto Rico? Once again, I was torn between two worlds.

Señor Núñez held up his hands in peace.

"We understand and respect your situation, Señor Torres," he spoke courteously. "But if you would be so kind, we would like to pay for the passage of you and your daughter."

Papá looked away, never one to accept charity or pity.

_Please, Papá_, I pleaded with my eyes. _Just this once…just this once…_

Finally, he looked up again.

"I would be most honored to accept your generosity, Señor Núñez," he spoke, breaking into a smile, the wrinkles in his face creasing easily. "But please allow us to return the favor to you some way…"

"Actually," Bernardo interrupted, looking over at me mischievously, "Anita has mentioned before that she would like to help out at our shop, Papá. She could help us manage the stores until I leave."

"Yes, yes, of course! I will need all the help in the world!" Señor Núñez laughed deeply and richly. "We'll be in América in no time at all!"

I looked around the table, taking in everyone's reactions at the news. Little María looked uncertain, unknowing where this place was. Thankfully, the way it sounded, she would not have to leave Puerto Rico for a few years, giving her time to grow. Señora Núñez had a bittersweet air to her—she seemed a fine and noble lady, perhaps one of a long great ancestry that loved this island. It would be hard to leave for her, it seems.

Bernardo and his father were alike, beaming with no other thoughts but the future. My own father had a strange look about him, almost like sorrow. Why, I wonder, when it has already been agreed that we will go together? Is it…Could it be Mamá? Will he miss this place they shared together? He met my eyes and offered a sorry smile before looking into the bottom of his empty cup.

And what about me, what did _I _feel about going to América with Bernardo, finding a home and starting a new life? Strangely enough, I felt nothing but hope, a warmth which spread through my entire body calming and exciting me at the same time.

Puerto Rico is my home, my life. But, _tal vez_, América can be my chance to rise from these ashes of nothing and start anew with my family and my love.

Still, nothing was certain, and a year can be a very long time where many changes are made. However, from that moment the plans of our departure slowly began to form, a force set into motion that could not be reversed—no matter how much anyone wanted it to.

**Spanish Translations:**

**_ya: _enough**

**_yucca frita_: traditional Hispanic dish, a fried yucca root**

**_arroz con frijoles_: rice and beans**

**_Borinquen_: the name Puerto Ricans use to identify their island, from the ancient language of the Taino Indians**

**_Tal vez_: perhaps **

To all my readers: Sorry for the extreme delay! As I say on my profile, I lost my muse over the summer, but it is now back to stay, hopefully. Thanks for your patience.


	10. Diez

Consuelo and I walked along the unbelievably narrow sidewalks of Viejo San Juan a Sunday afternoon, talking about the future. It had been months since the fatal night Vasquez cornered us in a dark, dank alley, leaving my friend terribly injured—now, you would not even be able to tell that Consuelo had a purple scar from bullet as she chatted happily. Though I was profoundly glad that she had recuperated, she made me nervous since she continued to work in Vasquez's shop.

"He won't come near me again, Anita," she said, waving her hands in a carefree nature. "But, then again, it was _you_ he was after. I would stay away, too, if I was in your position."

"But he _shot_ you, Consuelo! It is too dangerous to—"

"You worry too much, _querida_. Let's talk of something else…like our trip! Won't it be exciting to move to América together?"

"_Sí, por supuesto." _Yes, of course. The more Bernardo spoke of América to his friends, the greater number agreed to join us. It was almost as if he were Christopher Columbus, enlisting people on his crew for his crazy mission to the New World.

"Indio proved useful after all," she chuckled. "But once we get to América I'm a free woman! I need someone with a bit more backbone. What about you and Bernardo? How is that faring? You two are almost the leaders of our merry bunch."

I could not imagine going through boys as one trying to choose the ripest plantain from the tree, but that was Consuelo's nature, through and through.

"What can I say? His father gave me a job, his mother and sister are wonderful, and he is perfect." I spoke boldly, though inside I kept locked the sweet embarrassment that came when I spoke about Nardo to others. It was such a strange, indescribable feeling that I hoped would never go away.

"_Chica afortunada_," she sighed. "To have such perfection! That'll be the day, right?"

We kept walking, past the bakery and brightly colored houses, windows full of flowers. Reaching the summit of the hill, we stopped for a moment, looking out to the sea, bordered by El Morro fort. This place was so beautiful it was almost deceiving, making San Juan seem better than it truly was. But, no, there was my neighborhood, a grey eyesore not far from the fort. We both sighed simultaneously.

"I must go," I said at last, embracing Consuelo. "But I will see you later tonight at Señor Núñez's shop?"

"Yes, yes," she remarked absently at my referring to one of many meetings Bernardo held for his friends moving with him to América. "You can make it home alone?"

I forced a smile.

"I may be shorter than you, Consuelo, but I am just as strong!"

"True enough," she admitted, as we parted ways and I continued down the street.

I could escape reality in the beautiful neighborhood of the city, but not in my own. The homeless line the sidewalks, reeking of sweat and the filth they gathered in. Stray dogs followed me, the friendly ones winning my pity and the growling ones winning my scorns and shouts. I began to quicken my pace as I reached the heart of my neighborhood. Men in sweat-drenched undershirts leaned out of their doorways, a bottle of rum in their hands as they called out to me: "_Ven a verme esta noche, chia_", Come and see me tonight, girl. I avoided them and cursed all manner of beauty my mother had given me, suddenly wishing I had not left my knife at home.

Retreating into the relative sanctuary of my own crumbling home, I was surprised to my father was already home from Mass, a ritual I had abandoned with the death of my mother. As I grew accustomed to the grey light I noticed an ugly bruise forming on his forehead and rushed to his side.

"¿_Qué pasó?" _I asked as he waved away my inspecting fingers.

He sighed and smirked wistfully.

"I am not as young as I once was," he drew out, shifting in his chair uncomfortably. "It is not that I am very old in years, in fact, but this life has dealt me harsh blows."

He met my concerned gaze and continued.

"I was on my way to the Catedral San Juan when this…this strange fit of coughing took over and I just, collapsed," he clasped his hands together simply. "Thankfully some kind people helped me home, rather than rob me blind. Then again, I carried nothing of value except my life."

I remember recalling those exact words he often mentions whenever I feel in danger.

"But even my life is not as valuable as it once was," he noted, taking my face in his warm, familiar hands. "You do not need me anymore, Anita. I see the way you take care of yourself, strong and sure, like your mother was. And the way you are around Bernardo…it is as if you were not alive until you met him!"

"Papi," I interjected, "just because I love Bernardo does not mean that I do not need, do not want to need you!"

"You can deny it all you want. You are an adult, at far too young an age, too. My life is fading just as yours is beginning…I-I will not be coming with you to the land across the ocean."

"No, don't say such things!" I could feel my bottled up emotion threatening to spill, no longer a trickle, but a typhoon of feeling. "Listen to me, Papi; you're just having a bad day. I am going to get a doctor…"

He did not protest as I escaped from his sight, keeping all fears and tears in the deepest corner of my heart. I could not expose myself to weakness, I could not afford it.

Matters were made only worse after the doctor came and left. He pulled me off to an alley behind our house to tell me the news: my father had a severe lung problem that limited his breathing. He would not see the end of this year. I felt numb, completely unfeeling to everything. Only a bit more than a year ago, the same news was told about Mamá. Just when we had a chance to escape all grief, all sickness and poverty, Papá would not be able to see it.

"In what manner will you be paying me for my visit?" the doctor continued, shaking me from my intense thought. The color rose to my face as I wondered what he meant, exactly.

"I will search our finances," I said coldly, crossing my arms. "I will have an answer by the end of the week."

"You had better," the man snapped, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "I don't come down to this neighborhood for nothing."

"_Vale_."

Even as I attended the meeting in Bernardo's father's shop, sitting on crates of rice and plantains, I felt like one in a dream, outside of my body, watching myself joke and laugh with this new group of people that I'd be making the journey with—Chino, Pepe, José, Roberto, Francisco, Manuel, and Tomas, along with Indio. They also brought their girls, Rosalía, Ana, Teresita, Lupe, Yolanda, and Natalia, along with Consuelo. I had committed their names to memory long ago, but could not comprehend how this girl I knew to be myself could have such a good time with the knowledge that her father was slowly fading.

My chest ached as I felt my heart breaking, yet a smile was kept fixed on my face.

"_Ya, basta_," Bernardo called out suddenly, trying to establish some order. "I have good news everybody—we leave for América in two months! So buy warm clothing, we will be in Nueva York for _Las Navidades_!"

Everyone let out a cheer and embraced one another. This was the first time they were given a chance for responsibility—we would go as a group together and the adults would come on the next trip. It would have been an exciting proposition, Christmas in New York, if I had not been so completely and utterly distracted.

"Calm down, calm down," Bernardo said good-naturedly over the noise. "We need all the names of those coming with us—so we have a good tally."

He held up the piece of paper he was passing around. Handing it to me, he narrowed his eyes, obviously realizing something was wrong. I took a pencil from his hand and wrote in my poor letters but a single name: Anita Torres. Reading it, he understood; but he was also like me, keeping up pretences as he continued to pass the paper around.

What should have been a joyous event was marred by sadness, which I did not have time to indulge. Two months would fly by quickly, I knew, and preparations had to be made.

Bernardo walked me home in the dark quiet, and we stopped a few blocks from my house. He embraced me silently, enveloping me in his warmth. He comforted me more than he could know, but I refused to allow my grief to resurface; I was afraid that, if I let it out, I would not be able to stop it again.

For some strange reason, I thought of Consuelo, who was by now sewing in the dim light of Vasquez's shop. I took a shuddering breath and parted fro m Nardo.

"I need to go see Consuelo, to make sure she is alright," I insisted.

He smiled skeptically, as if this was a joke since, after all, Consuelo was always alright. When I began to walk away, pulling his hand, he followed. Looking above, I noticed the absence of the stars, replaced with a vast darkness. I had a sickening feeling in my stomach and continued more quickly along the shadowed alleys I knew all too well.

Reaching the shop, I pushed open the door only to find four tired girls working in the stifling heat. Vasquez was nowhere in sight. Consuelo looked up with a sideways smile, blowing the hair out of her eyes.

"Visiting, Anita?"

I sighed with relief at my unnecessary panic.

"I just had a bad feeling, that's all. One of your 'bad omens'."

"_Buenas noches, chicas_," Bernardo said politely before turning to me. "We should get going, Anita _bonita_—my parents are waiting up for me."

"So soon?" a dark, all too familiar voice rumbled. "Why not stay and settle your debt?"

Bernardo whirled around as the door of the shop closed and Vasquez entered. He knew a threat when he saw one and held his palms out in self-defense.

"My issue isn't with you, boy," Vasquez spat evenly. "It is with Señorita Torres—she has not yet paid me what is due."

The breath caught in my throat yet I kept my face as still as stone as he approached. Nardo stepped between us, his countenance stormy.

"What is it you want?" he growled. Though shorter than Vasquez, Nardo's body language was clearly ready to fight.

"Only Anita knows."

I cursed soundly, a deep noise I did not know I possessed. This man thought he owned us, thought he could control us—working and abusing us for practically nothing. But no more. Reaching behind my belt, I pulled out my knife. Now the time would come—my will would be tested. I held it to Vasquez's chest, whose face looked amused.

"Laugh all you want," I spat, "but know this: you think because you are stronger and we are weaker, because you are richer and we are poorer, that gives you the right to dominate us, to have us follow your will without a struggle? I'll have you know that no matter how much power you _think_ you have, you are about to loose it all. We are all leaving to a land of opportunity where there will never be people like you telling us we are worthless!"

"Is that a threat?" Vasquez chuckled. "You think you can come here with a boy and a knife and suddenly you can overcome me? What are you going to do, _chiquita linda_, kill me?" he boldly put his hand against my face, stroking my features until I pulled away roughly and Bernardo stepped between us angrily.

"Do you think I need this?" I asked evenly. I pulled up the knife, as if about to throw it at him, but then let it fall from my palm to the ground with a clatter. "_Vamonos chicas_," I whispered, pushing past him to open the door.

It was as if I had not even realized what happened—it was so strange, so unexpected. Consuelo and the other girls had followed me out of the shop without question or hesitation and I saw such an admiration in their eyes that had never been there before.

Once we were all safely a few blocks away, Consuelo rushed to embrace me.

"You are the bravest and most reckless _nena _I have ever met!" she exclaimed into the night. "And because of that you have set us free—I am proud to follow you to América."

As my heart slowed and the fact that I stood up to Vasquez sunk in completely, I realized all the girls had left and only Bernardo remained. He took my hand and gave a baffled smile.

"That was weird," he spoke, beginning to walk, "but very brave of you."

"He is lucky he got off just with a few words, after what he's done to us…"

"What do you mean?" Bernardo asked, suddenly serious. "I will go back and kill him if he's hurt you!" Somehow, I knew he was not lying.

"He's done nothing to me, only threats and thoughts. Consuelo was hurt though, a few months ago when she defended me. And I-I was just frustrated. He thinks he is so mighty that he can control us; I don't want to be controlled by anyone. I want to be free." I knew my emotion was getting the better of me, but did not care. I had to speak.

"We will be free, and I will always, always protect you," he promised me solemnly. Drawing a breath, he paused before he continued, "Your father will be happy knowing that."

I smiled wistfully, realizing that his words held truth.

"He will not live to see those days," I spoke softly.

I hated this seriousness—what happened to those days on the beach, laughing and running? Somehow, Bernardo seemed to sense this and he suddenly scooped me into his arms, kissing the side of my forehead as my head leaned against his.

"_¡Mira! _The stars are out," he remarked, cheerfully.

True enough, the stars that had been hiding from me earlier were now exposed, bold and unafraid.

"So?"

"So…" he scrambled for an explanation, "They are beautiful, like you, Anita. The stars that shine over América are these same stars that shine over our _Borinquen_." His smile widened as he thought of an idea. "C'mon, let's show them to your father."

"No! We can't!" I shrieked and laughed at the same time as he began to run, bouncing me up and down. Still, I did not argue _too_ much and when we arrived at my house, I rushed inside, waking Papá up.

Without much protest besides a small fit of coughs, my father struggled to walk outside, leaning on me fully for support. Once in the cool shadows of the street, Bernardo came forward and supported Papá's other side. Between the three of us, huddled together, we breathed the same awe as we looked towards the skies.

"See the stars, Papi?" I asked. "No matter where we are, we will always see the same stars overhead." I caught Bernardo's eye and he winked knowingly.

"_De veras_," Papá spoke, his words quiet and peaceful. "_Mira como brillan para nosotros…"_

Look how they shine for us, he says. Glancing at his face, the starlight spilling onto his skin, I savor the moment, studying _las estrellas _reflected in his narrow eyes. Looking past him, I noticed Bernardo watching me and I mouthed a 'thank you' to him and he clasped my hand behind Papá's back. Together, we looked to the stars and sighed. I prayed the futile prayer that this night would never end, that we could always be like this, but I knew dawn would come eventually.

I knew that just as the sun rose over América, it would set on my father's life—so I thought of nothing else, nothing else but that moment and the stars shining just for us.

Spanish Translations:

_Chica afortunada_: Lucky girl

¿_Qué pasó?_: What happened?

_Vale_: Okay, I understand

_basta_: enough, settle down

_Las Navidades_: Christmastime

_Chiquita linda:_ little, pretty one

_Mira_: Look

_De veras_: Literally "of truth", truly

_las estrellas_: the stars


	11. Once

**I do not own West Side Story, or any of its characters. **

* * *

Before I knew it, two months came and went. It was the last week before we flew to America and I hardly knew if I was ready or not. Of course, I had packed the essentials—clothes, cooking supplies, and the few possessions I had. Nardo had even started learning English. But my life felt like it was spinning past me uncontrollably, and I could not stop even if I wanted to.

I had moved Papá to a hospital as his symptoms grew worse and worse. His pulse had already grown weak and when he coughed his entire body convulsed. Some nights, I would sleep in the hospital—but by "sleep" I really mean that I would lie awake, curled up on a chair, trembling at the thought of his death. It seemed like yesterday that we had both been in a similar situation, waiting, breath held, for Mamá to die. Although it was terrible, I had hoped he would die before I left. It was a selfish wish, I knew…but wouldn't it have been better to be with him when he passed from this world to the next? Now, I knew, I would probably be many, many miles away when he drew his last breath.

To take my mind off of everything, Bernardo invited me to _el cine_ to see a film. Considering that I had never seen one before, I agreed. Besides, Maria was going as well, with a boy her age, so I didn't want disappoint her. I knew she would want me there, and I remembered how awkward a girl's first date can be!

It was a rainy evening when Nardo picked me up from the San Juan Hospital. The windshield wipers of his car struggled to function, wiping away the torrential downpour that had appeared so suddenly. Absently, I smiled at the awkward pair in the back seat—Maria and her friend, nicknamed Chino. Then I ran my fingers through my hair.

"Sorry, I didn't get a chance to go home and wash up," I apologized to Nardo, once I noticed the crisply ironed shirt he was wearing, his cuffs rolled up, and hair lightly greased back.

"If I had known you were going to look nice, for once, I would have made the effort!" I teased.

"_Ay, _Anita _bonita,_" he cooed, taking my hand, "you _always_ look so beautiful, it's hard for me to compete! So, of course I had to make myself especially _guapo _for you tonight!"

Chino stifled a laugh. But Nardo didn't seem to notice or care, and neither did I. He squeezed my hand in a comforting way, his face very serious. I smiled, glad for his concern and his humor—simultaneously, they were the best medicine for my ailing spirit.

By the time we reached the theater, the light had almost faded from the grey sky, but the rain continued to pour. The lights were flickering at the ticket booth but, nevertheless, a long line snaked down the cracked, puddle-strewn sidewalk, of people huddled under umbrellas who handed over their coins for a tiny stub that granted them entrance. After we had shuffled our way inside, crammed under Nardo's umbrella, the air instantly became thick and humid as a crowd of wet people milled about the concession stand.

Quietly, I took in the lost splendor of the theater. Nardo had said that, years ago, when films started to gain popularity, this had been the busiest place in all San Juan. Now, however, it had fallen into disarray—cobwebs fluttering from the breeze of fans, the railings missing a few bars, the tile floor cracked and uneven, blotted by flooding. Even the cushions of the seats were worn and indented, speaking of many, many others who had sat in that spot before, and the bright red covering was fading.

Like most things in Puerto Rico, it seemed, the splendor of long before had faded. Everything was broken down and second-best, and yet the theater was vastly over-crowded. We struggled to find some seats discovering, afterwards, that the air conditioning was broken and the ground sticky from previous spills that had been neglected.

"I'll be right back," Nardo said as he shimmied out of the row.

"You'll miss the film!" I exclaimed, catching his hand before he escaped.

"Trust me," he winked.

I rolled my eyes.

"Do you know what happened the last time I trusted you?" I complained.

"Yes," he said with a grin. "You fell in love with me."

I tried to hide a smile but finally just laughed. And as I felt him kiss me on the cheek mischievously before darting off, pushing against the crowd, part of my troubles seemed to leave with him, too.

Nardo returned _just _as the theater began to grow dark. Even in the dim light of the screen, I could read the glint in his black eyes that said: _told you so_. I smiled as he juggled four glass bottles of Coca-Cola. The glass was cool with condensation and the bubbly fizz tickled my nose as I drank. Distantly, a memory tugged on my mind—the last time I had a bottle of Coca-Cola was when I was very young…Papá, Mamá, and I had just come from el Catedral on Sunday afternoon and were walking the streets of Viejo San Juan. Papá stopped a vendor and bought us all Coca-Cola, handing the man three coins. Or had it been _agua de coco_ that he had bought? My mind went through a spasm of panic at my inability to recall this detail of my past. How long would it be before I forgot what my parents looked like, sounded like? How long until I forgot them completely?

I hadn't realized my hands were shaking until Bernardo reached over and grabbed them. His touch was warm and familiar. Instantly, I was brought back to the present moment. Roughly wiping away the tears that had prickled in the corner of my eyes, I smiled at him and attempted to turn my attention back to the glowing screen.

The plot was simple and overly-romantic…one of those "star crossed lovers" scenarios, with a predictable ending, so my mind wandered quickly. I liked to watch the people's faces in the audience, their eyes focusing attentively, skin made pale by the glimmering of the projection. Maria, Chino, and Bernardo were all caught up in the spell of the movie, absorbed in the drone of the speakers and oblivious of reality.

Just as I was about to startle Nardo as a bit of a joke, Mother Nature startled us all. With an enormous rumble of thunder, the screen suddenly went black, and the audience gave a collective gasp. A few girls even screamed at the sudden, consuming darkness. I felt Nardo's breath at my ear.

"It's just the storm," he assured me, "the power went out."

"Like I'd be afraid of a little thunder," I grumbled.

But my words were lost amidst the hubbub of panicked and frustrated people. Instantly, the reality of the lack of air conditioning was apparent to everyone and soon a thin layer of perspiration trickled down the back of my neck.

Bernardo tugged my hand.

"Let's get out of here."

I nodded, but then realized he couldn't see me in the dark.

"We'll be on the balcony outside, Maria," he said as we passed his sister. "Keep close by Chino."

I could hear Maria scoff, but by if she gave a response it was drowned out by the buzz of the crowd. With his shoulder, Bernardo pushed open the exit door, sending a sliver of bright light into the theater. The temperature was much more comfortable on the iron balcony, though the rain formed a thick curtain all around.

Bernardo took my hand.

"Thanks for taking me out tonight," I said. "You always take me to the nicest places."

He chuckled.

"Didn't you know I was the one who caused the power to go out? I thought we needed some alone time."

"We do?"

"Who else would cheer you up?"

"Who else, indeed?"  
I wrapped my arms around his neck and he lifted me by my waist, sitting me on the rail of the balcony. Raindrops licked the back of my shoulders, so I wrapped my legs around his waist and, letting loose my hair, leaned back into the rain, drenching my chest, face, hair, and arms in the cool, refreshing rain. I wanted nothing more than to wash my worries away, too.

Nardo leaned in, sucking the rain water from my shoulder, my neck, my cheek, and finally, my lips. He tasted like Coca-Cola and sweat—both sweet and salty. Since my heart had ached for so long from loss, I wanted nothing more than to bring Nardo closer; so close that we would never part. So close that I would never feel lonely and vulnerable ever again.

I brought his head nearer, so that the dripping hair would cool his face. With sudden intensity, I unbuttoned his shirt, running my rain-soaked hands along his chest, leaving a trace of goose-bumps in my wake. He shivered slightly but smiled, his hands clutching my calves, pushing higher and higher up my skirt, lightly tracing the inside of my thighs.

I did not think. All I knew was that I wanted his skin on mine. Nothing else mattered, because nothing could hurt me here.

I peeled off my tank-top, kicked off my shoes, and wrapped him closer, tighter. I kissed him feverishly, deeply. Absently, I felt his hand at the clasp of my bra and I felt the heat rise to my face in anticipation. I guided him with my own hand, filled with a new sense of urgency.

But just as I felt the satisfying _click_ as it unfastened, I also heard another sound—the one of the door of the balcony opening. There, in the doorway, blinking as she adjusted to the light, was Maria. Her face turned a deep, deep red as she saw the scene before her. Embarrassed at being caught in a private moment by the little sister of my _novio_ and by my lack of common sense, I immediately pushed Bernardo away and covered myself. Though still in a daze, Bernardo looked at what held my attention and his face turned an identical shade of red.

"Maria!" he exclaimed, angrier than I had ever heard him. "_Vete de aqui!"_

Mortified, she retreated instantly.

"Bernardo!" I scolded.

I jumped down from the rail, pulling my top on and pushing my hair behind my ears.

"It's not _her_ fault we weren't thinking…"

"Well, then, I never want to think again!"

I gave him a little shove as he buttoned up his shirt. Hand on the door, I paused and turned back.

"Bernardo Núñez, I love you."

"I know," he said, grinning. "And I've always loved you, _bonita _Anita Josephina."

I returned to the theater, where the movie had resumed, and Nardo joined me moments later.

After the film, I tried to make up for the awkwardness Maria must be feeling as we walked back to the car, the night cool from the fallen rain.

"I'm sorry," I offered. "We should have picked a more private spot."

"It's not that," she said quickly. "Even though I'll never see why _anyone _would want to date my brother."

She looked up and gave a sheepish smile. I laughed and pulled her close, my arm around her shoulders.

"Ah, _la jovensita_ made a joke!"

Her great brown eyes crinkled in a smile. Then, she grew serious.

"Do you think I'll ever feel like that with Chino?" she asked, glancing back at the narrow-eyed boy who trotted next to Bernardo.

I shrugged.

"I never felt like this about anyone before. But when you know, you know," I advised. "And when you're with them, all your pain just…floats away. Until there is none."

"Well, if anyone deserves to feel that way, it's you," Maria said, kindly.

I said nothing, just squeezed her closer.

"You are my family now," I whispered quietly. "All I will have once we're in América."

"Good!" Maria exclaimed, eyes shining. "I've always wanted a sister."

And, as Nardo held open the door to the car, the mischievous look having returned in his eyes, my future began to look a little brighter…thanks to a little time spent in the dark rain.

* * *

_Vete de aqui_: Go away from here

_la jovensita_: the young girl


End file.
